


much ado about nothing

by Herwhereabouts



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-05
Updated: 2012-05-05
Packaged: 2017-11-04 21:03:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/398176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herwhereabouts/pseuds/Herwhereabouts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike knows that Jeff won't let him forget it, not now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	much ado about nothing

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know how this happened! (Okay, that's totally a lie.) It's about dumb boys dealing with feelings. This started off as a comment fic for impertinence a few weeks ago, and before heading to bed tonight, I got inspired to finish it. 
> 
> This takes place immediately after "slowly winding down for years" so you might want to read that first. 
> 
> Again, any and all mistakes are mine. I hope it's not as sickeningly sweet as I think it is!

Mike wakes up in the morning to nuzzling and Jeff biting at his earlobe playfully, his breath minty and cool. When he sleepily groans and opens his eyes a little to glare, Jeff just beams at him and climbs on top of him like a gigantic human blanket. (He never wears a shirt, fuck, what's up with that.) Mike isn't amused. He pushes at Jeff's chest with loose, closed fists and Jeff just flattens one of Mike's hands over his chest. Holds it there. Mike sizes him up with all the patience he can muster (Jeff is playing with the hem of Mike's t-shirt, slowly dragging it up), then tries to throw him off halfheartedly.

“Ugh, get off me,” he whines when it's just no use, snagging Jeff's exploratory hand in his and trying to shove him again by thrusting his hips up into the movement. Jeff says, “Quit your bitching,” and sits on Mike's hips, his thighs warm, heavy weights at Mike's sides. His hair a wild mess, as per usual.

Mike sighs in resignation and puts his hands on Jeff's thighs, looks at the alarm clock. They have just enough time.

He thrusts his hips up against Jeff's ass and says offhandedly, “Hey, you have just enough time to blow me. My treat.” Jeff snorts and shakes his head. “Uh, yeah, no thanks.” He presses down on Mike's hips with his ass, making Mike break and bite at his bottom lip, scowl up at him. “Don't make promises you can't keep,” Mike says, voice low, eying Jeff's smooth stomach.

“Who says I can't keep it, huh?” Mike tries to ignore the want, the need unraveling inside, and smiles at Jeff unconcernedly, his hands traveling to Jeff's hips. His thumbs lightly trailing up smooth skin. Jeff rocks down a little on Mike's hips and the look he gives Mike isn't an amused one. He tugs at the waistband of Jeff's pajamas with a finger and Jeff halts all movement, tenses up. “What?” Mike asks carefully, snapping the elastic back against Jeff's skin, focusing his attention on the tanned v-shape of his torso. The slight hair there is surprisingly soft to the touch when he presses down with his fingers and feels.

Jeff silently flicks Mike's hands off his hips like Mike is, is, a fly, an insect or something, and then stretches out his body back over to cover Mike again, his warm hard-on pressing into Mike's thigh. Mike huffs out an amused laugh and settles his hands back on Jeff's sides, wondering. Jeff brackets his head with his elbows, and eyes Mike like he's a puzzle. This is easy, Mike thinks.

Mike licks his lips and stares right back, his fingers digging into Jeff's back, watching his gaze loosen up, his lips part. Mike smirks. “So?”

Jeff's eyes zero in on his mouth and he chokes out, “I get to kiss you.” Mike can't control his surprise, he really can't. He laughs in Jeff's face and pats Jeff on the sides pityingly. “Are you serious?” Jeff is hilarious. Jeff wants to make out. How is this Mike's life.

Jeff smirks thinly, but his fingers come up to brush Mike's cheek softly and Mike closes his mouth and frowns, stills. Then Jeff closes the last few inches separating their lips and kisses Mike like it's – like it's their first time, ever. The softness leaves Mike flushing, Mike's head spinning, and he has to cling to Jeff, to fucking understand.

They spend the next twenty minutes making out, trading slow, easy kisses, and when their alarm rings, Mike can't make his hands let go, loosen up.

*

When game five is in the books and the Kings advance to the second round, they don't have enough time to do much else but pack up and head back to LA that night. 

So the next day they end up going to a semi-fancy bar and grill in downtown LA, and some of the guys even show up with their wives or girlfriends in tow. 

Mike tries not to hover too much around Jeff as they eat and bicker. The almost careful distance he has to maintain during the night throws him off and leaves him restless, fidgety. Makes him feel uncomfortable and itchy in his own skin. 

All in all, though, everyone has a nice time. Since Drew's carefully cultivated fear of Sutter yelling at him in stern, sour disapproval – over breaking the rules and causing mischief of any sort – has reached hilarious levels of mock-worthy sadness, Brownie is there to make sure that everything is very wholesome and chill. Mike slaps Drew on the back in disbelief as Drew earnestly and in great detail tries to talk above laughter and a chorus of voices about how he's sure that Sutter is somehow omnipresent. “He has bat ears, dude. He can hear and sense fun-time things from miles away,” Drew says, his eyes bulging a little. 

Mike pokes Brownie in the side and hesitantly asks, “He hasn't had more than two beers, right?” 

Brownie cracks a small grin, almost fond. “Nah. This is pretty good, actually. He was talking some _Truman Show_ shit last night, though. We're good.” Mike shakes his head and tries to tune back in to as many as six conversations happening at the same time around him. 

Mike tries to ignore how Jeff breaks off from the group at one point and goes to the bar. He lounges there and orders a beer, away from everyone else. Mike has never been much good at ignoring Jeff, though. Mike's missed so many signs for so long.

When the clock strikes close to their curfew time, Mike casually walks up to where Jeff is chatting with the bartender and throws an arm around Jeff's neck and hugs him to his side. When Jeff's hand warmly wraps around his wrist and the bartender's shark-like, smug grin dims a little, Mike pulls away and plops down on the seat next to Jeff. Mike tries to fight the smirk trying to take control of his face when Jeff twists a little in his seat to move closer to him. Jeff's open grin is something that Mike has been seeing a lot for a few weeks. 

He orders a beer and they just sit there and drink companionably for a few minutes. It doesn't feel weird like the way Mike was fearing it would be, hoping to avoid. 

When a group of hot girls walk in and wait to get seated, Mike stares. Mike stares until Jeff's voice easily cuts in to say, “You can look.” That snaps Mike's focus right back to Jeff and Jeff's small, strained smile and fuck, this is really happening. Mike shakily blurts out, “Fuck, you've already got rules. I'm gonna have to keep up.” Jeff elbows him and murmurs something that might be a yes. 

Mike bites his bottom lip for a second and lets Jeff keep his silence, take a tense sip of his beer. Mike carefully brushes his fingers over Jeff's wrist before he chickens out and drops his hand down on the bar. Mike glares at his beer bottle and quietly mutters, “This going steady thing is such a hassle.” He unconsciously tenses up in his seat as it leaves his mouth, and he immediately hates himself for it. It doesn't make sense, trying to rile Jeff up right now, but Mike has made many stupid decisions where Jeff is concerned. 

Jeff glances down at where Mike's hand has curled into a tight fist next to his, and says, “I've heard it's got some perks, though,” and Mike is thrown for a loop again. 

When Jeff finally manages to look at him and pin him down with that same, searching look (kind of scared, kind of hopeful), Mike has to grab Jeff's wrist and hold on for a few seconds. Has to look away and get his shit together. Has to stop smiling like an idiot at nothing in particular. 

That night when they go home, when they go up to Mike's bedroom, Mike lets Jeff loosen him up with eager, wet kisses and slow, rough fingers. Lets Jeff crowd behind him and fuck him in an unhurried, arrhythmic press of his hips, his cock. Jeff's palm a hot, steadying weight at the back of Mike's neck, his fingers stuttering and pressing down, pressing in. 

Mike shudders as he comes with a hand blindly wrapped around his dick, and falls face-first on the bed, Jeff not missing a beat behind him. Mike weakly reaches back to clutch Jeff's flank and bite his nails into his skin, and just when Mike thinks that it's too much, Jeff groans and comes almost violently. Mike smirks into his bent, sweaty forearm and bites back on a whine as Jeff pulls out to throw the condom away. “We should shower,” Mike mutters into his pillow, and Jeff says, “Later. In the morning.” Mike sighs and says, “Nasty,” and gets a slap to the ass for it. 

They don't say anything else. Jeff rearranges his freakishly long limbs around, and they fall asleep on different sides of the bed. Their fingers touch and retreat throughout the entire night, though, and Mike is waiting for it to get to that place where the panic will set in and snap him awake.

But it doesn't set in that night, or even in the morning.

It's just hard to panic with a mouth wrapped around your dick, honestly. 

~end~ 


End file.
